


when it’s said and done

by chevrefoil



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, i fudge some shit bc that’s how it be sometimes, mentions of lucilius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 19:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17904620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chevrefoil/pseuds/chevrefoil
Summary: Belial laughs, getting to his feet. The core drips red. She would die in the next few minutes—seconds, even, wounded as she was. He kicks her with enough force to send her rolling helplessly towards Lucifer in a puff of bloody feathers. “She’s all yours, Luci,” he crows, leering at the primarch. “Do be gentle.”





	when it’s said and done

**Author's Note:**

> this is pure lightly edited emotional self indulgence. faabeli is good (though not really the focus of this laughs)

He had expected a primarch or two to show but certainly not the Supreme Primarch himself.

“Well, well, well—look who decided to show up!” Belial sings. “What a surprise, right?” He glances at the scattered pile of broken bodies, Astral and primal beast alike, behind him. Ah, he had made such a terrible mess. Lucilius wouldn’t mind that much, as long as nothing too important was destroyed, and he got the knowledge and cores he asked for. Oh, if only Lucifer had come earlier. They had died with his name on their lips, desperately seeking salvation. It had been the most wonderful sight.

The angel currently in his grip was the last soldier he had managed to find at this particular outpost. If she had stayed quiet, flown as fast as her little wings could take her, perhaps she could have escaped with her life. But she wasn’t capable of that. The Astrals had programmed her to fight until her last breath, to struggle even if her eyes were plucked out and her limbs torn to pieces. Being able to even _think_ of self-preservation was a luxury not afforded to mere fodder like her. “You don’t mind the mess, do you? I’m almost done here.”

Lucifer's eyes narrow. “Belial—” 

“Hold that thought, Luci,” he interrupts, turning his attention back to the primal beast still squirming in his grip. Her wings were bent at an odd angle, splintered bone showing in places where clumps of feathers were no longer there. A rookie, just hatched from her cocoon. He scowls, rather disappointed that all of it was over. Just like the others, she had been weak. The other outpost had been more _exhilarating_.

Oh, well. He would take what he needs and move on. Not everyone could keep up with him, after all.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he coos at her, relishing the sight of fear in her dark eyes. Belial could kill her right now and get it over with, but that wouldn’t be any fun. He would enjoy this, play around with her until he was pleased. And Lucifer was here—how could he just leave without paying some respect to the Supreme Primarch? He adjusts his hold on her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her battered body against his so that she’s facing the Supreme Primarch in all his shiny perfection. 

“Say ‘hello’ to Luci,” he says in a sing-song voice. He grasps her chin and twists her head to the side, the little pained mewl that leaves her making his skin tingle with pleasure. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he? So perfect and divine—there’s no one else like him in the entire realm. You’re quite lucky to get to see him before you...well, _you know_.”

Lucifer presses his mouth into a thin line, his fingers edging towards one of the swords at his hip. “Release her.”

 _Oh_ , what a good look even a slightest bit of anger was on him. Such a cold intensity in his gaze, a crack in the serene mask he always wore. It could only mean the rebellion Belial had so carefully brought to fruition was truly getting to him. The ceaseless fighting, the mountain of dead, and the stinging betrayal of some of his closest acquaintances. His thoughts briefly turn to Sandalphon—another primal beast created by Lucilius, but who had no other purpose than to be Lucifer’s spare. He had been so _easy_ to manipulate, the work practically already done for him. Had Lucifer seen him yet, bloody and wild, ferociously striking down Astral and primal beast alike? So much better than languishing in Lucifer’s company, forever cursed as his shadow.

Belial grins at the thought. He would love to see it. He would love to see Luci lose his composure, lash out like he _knew_ he could. Just a glimpse would bring him far more pleasure than any act of debauchery he’s participated in so far out of his existence. That time would come; for now, he could satisfy himself with merely teasing the Supreme Primarch. Clutching the primal beast tighter to his body, he trails his fingers lightly down the side of her face and neck, breaking into a pleased smile when she stiffens at his touch. “It’s so much better when you’ve an audience like this. Now, where were we?”

“Release her, Belial.” Lucifer’s voice reverberates throughout the hall, echoey and brimming with force. “I will not ask you again.”

”You’re such a mood killer,” Belial says with a scowl. Still, he complies, letting the primal none too gently collapse to the ground. A strangled cry leaves her throat as she drops and her body makes a satisfying _thud_ at his feet. He crouches down in front of her, wetting his lips. If only he had more time, if only Lucifer could just shut up and watch—there was so much he wanted to do. “I’ve no time for even a quick one,” he whines, tucking a few stray strands of her dark hair behind her ear. She looks away, a low whimper leaving her. “Too bad.”

Before Lucifer could blink, Belial shoves his hand into her exposed chest. This part could be terribly messy; it wasn’t just the blood, but he’s gotten his fair share of bites and bruises from angels desperately trying to make him let go after they realize exactly what he was after. His fingers close around the familiar spherical shape of her core and without hesitation, he rips it from her chest.

A horrified wail rips its way out of her throat, her eyes wide in shock.

Belial laughs, getting to his feet. The core drips red. She would die in the next few minutes—seconds, even, wounded as she was. He kicks her with enough force to send her rolling helplessly towards Lucifer in a puff of bloody feathers. “She’s all yours, Luci,” he crows, leering at the primarch. “Do be gentle.”

The angel spasms at his feet, blood seeping out her chest and pooling around her limp form. She tries, rather unsucessfully, to speak—a garbled mess of words leaves her lips, devolving into a rough coughing fit that racks her body. Finally, she stills, her eyes glazing over and her wings seeming to lose what little shine they had left.

Lucifer briefly closes his eyes, his face pained. He kneels, using one hand to close her eyelids, and whispers quiet enough that Belial could only see his lips moving. As he finishes, the primal’s body shimmers and solidifies, turning to stone.

Belial blinks, and it collapses into a pile of dust. “Ah,” he says, staring. That was new.

Lucifer stands. His face had once more turned impassive, expressionless as stone. He carefully steps around the primal-turned-ash, making his way to where Belial stands. 

Belial scowls, his anticipation giving way to annoyance. Lucilius had made Lucifer look exactly like him—same height, same eyes, same hair, same skin—a living, breathing embodiment of his pride. He hated it, _hated_ it. Every time he looked at Lucifer, Lucilius stared back. Lucifer was nothing like him, didn’t deserve to be regarded as one of Lucilius’ greatest creations. He forces a smile. “How good it is to see you again, Supreme Primarch,” he says, his words sharp and bitter. “Afraid you’re a bit too late to the party. You missed _almost_ everything.”

“It’s not too late to cease all of this,” is all Lucifer says, ignoring Belial’s attempt to rile him up. “Along with those who aided you, if you surrender now, your punishment will be light.”

Surely he had to be joking. Leave it to Lucifer to think nicely requesting his resignation would yield any sort of result. Belial sneers at him. “And why would I _ever_ do that?”

Lucifer’s eyes flick down towards the core in Belial’s hand. ”I know Lucilius asked you to do it,” he finally says. “He needed cores for his experiment, far too many than he could procure naturally. This rebellion was nothing but a pretense for his true goals.”

“Who told you?”

Here, Lucifer averts his gaze. His words come out slower, softer, as if he was recalling something he didn’t want to. ”I asked him myself,” he continues, “and he confirmed it. We...disagreed about his methods.”

Not that Belial would expect anything else. He narrows his eyes, studying Lucifer closely. He had been expecting a fight, a chance to go toe to toe with Lucifer and emerge victorious, not—not _this_ , whatever this was. Unease, unfamiliar and suffocating, was beginning to worm its way into his core. “What are you trying to say?”

The primarch doesn’t answer him immediately.

”What are you saying?” Belial repeats, growing increasingly unsure as to if he wants to hear the answer. “Lucifer...?”

“Lucilius is dead.”

Belial stares at the angel, mouth agape. Lucilius, _dead_? No, no, no—impossible. Lies. It was an attempt to catch him off guard. “Stop messing around, Lucifer,” he says, composing himself enough to smile sweetly at the primarch. Something small and cold coils tight within his body, claws at his ribs. “Lying doesn’t suit you.”

Lucifer stands in front of him, his six wings unfurling from his back. White, unblemished, perfect; they fit his body as easily as a crown would fit atop a king’s head. Lucilius has made sure of that. Nothing but the best for Lucifer. He would live on, as he was supposed to. The primarch doesn’t say anything further, only gazed at him with such pity in his eyes that it makes his chest tighten in pain.

”Was it you?” His voice sounds so far away, strange and empty. Why was he asking? He already knew what the answer would be. Who _else_? “Did you...?”

”Yes.”

No hesitation, no feeling. It’s so blunt that it makes Belial want to break out into laughter. Instead, he lets out a shuddery breath. Dead. Lucilius was truly dead. No, no, no, _no_ —

“This rebellion,” Lucifer says, his voice cold, “is over.”

**Author's Note:**

> i couldn’t stop thinking about it (and all that good art of belial finding lucilius dead didn’t help). he’s hard to write because he’s Horny™ _and_ smart but i tried my best and now i’m going to get some holy water.  
> @ wmtsb iii blease more belial, thank.


End file.
